


Beautiful Words for Beautiful People

by SinisterSound



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Aesthetic words, Can be read as either romantic or just friendship, Canon Compliant, Drabbles, Fainting, I just wanted to have some fun, I suck at writing short things, Just some beautiful words for some beautiful people, M/M, You could look at them on their own or as a connected series, but there are strong hints to something more than friendship between characters, general idol stress and mentality, i guess, idol!verse, short chapters sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-01-30 21:36:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21435091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinisterSound/pseuds/SinisterSound
Summary: Just some beautiful words, for beautiful people as they strive to live their dreams.
Relationships: Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 38
Kudos: 812





	1. Boketto

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my little in between project! I wanted to practice writing shorter things, and while I’m not entirely happy how some of them turned out, I had a lot of fun writing them!  
Each chapter is based on a word I found, and they vary in length. I tried to switch up the pairings a little- but these could just be read as friendships, rather than relationships if you so choose!  
I’m beginning work on my next fic, but I wanted to have a little something to give you while you wait!  
Let me know what you think of them!  
Have a lovely day, and thank you to everyone who voted on my poll!  
-SS

Boketto- (v.) the act of gazing vacantly into the distance without a thought.

As an idol, they were expected to be  _ constantly  _ aware. 

They had to know if the cameras were rolling, if they were being filmed, how they were appearing, if fans could see them, if sunbaes of the industry were passing by- 

They were not allowed to be caught unawares. 

No matter how tired, no matter how bored, no matter how wandering their minds got- they were not allowed to simply space out, lest they risk being caught off guard and making fools of themselves (or worse). 

They helped each other out- sitting in interviews and noticing when one person got a little too hazy-eyed, not paying attention to the questions being asked. 

They couldn’t be caught off guard by a question- they  _ had  _ to know what they were going to say. 

Seonghwa and Hongjoong were usually the most vigilant- tapping members or nudging them with their foot to get them back to the matter at hand. Vacant eyes would snap back into focus and their shoulders were straighten to show they were listening. 

In practice, as well, you had to be focused. They had to take in each criticism and apply it perfectly, not letting yourself fall back into the lazy half-move you had gotten comfortable performing. 

It was mentally exhausting- that constant strain on the mind.

And so, when they did have those few moments where there were no cameras, no instructors, and no interview questions looming- they took full advantage of sitting in the van and sleeping, or staring mindlessly at a video playing. 

When they were in the dorms, it wasn’t uncommon for people to go straight to sleep after showering, or to find someone almost running into walls for how tired they were- barely able to keep their eyes open. 

Here and there, Seonghwa might stumble on Wooyoung staring at the television, his eyes open but glazed over- watching just to have something to stare at as he spaced out into his own mind. 

Maybe reviewing choreo or maybe just experiencing white noise. 

Yunho tended to take extra long in the showers, simply for standing under the spray and letting his head wander to all sorts of places (Seonghwa was guilty of this one, especially). Just basking in the warm spray and calm atmosphere, and suddenly you were thinking about what dogs might look like after another thousand years of human occupancy. 

It was a dangerous place. 

Jongho would sit at the dinner table with a bowl of cereal, cheek resting against a fist and eyes staring blankly at the wall with a spoonful of food hovering in front of his mouth but going nowhere. 

They were tired. And every moment they were in front of cameras and professionals, they had to act professional. 

They were only kids, but they  _ had  _ to act professional. 

So they really disturbed each other when they walked by and just saw someone staring at nothing, eyes a million miles away. On occasion, Seonghwa might tap their shoulder, just to be sure that they weren’t getting lost in anything too serious. 

(He could usually tell, though, just by the expression on their face whether they were violently obsessing over a voice crack on stage or just giving themselves a break from the constant stimulation of life.) 

They were all stressed and tired, so they all had these moments. 

However, the rarest person to ever sit in these moments of peace was Hongjoong. 

The man never stopped. 

From the moment they woke up, he was discussing their schedule for the day. During the schedule, he was passing messages and ensuring everyone knew what they were doing. In the van rides, he was monitoring stages and going over scripts with them. 

After practices, he was staying behind to practice or compose until late at night. And then he would return to the dorms to eat, shower, and then mess around on his laptop- writing lyrics or arranging music- until he fell asleep with his computer still on and loud music filtering through his headphones. 

Repeat the next day and the next- for weeks. 

Seonghwa admired that about Hongjoong- his ability to keep going and going. The issue began to arise when he  _ just kept going _ . 

Seonghwa kept waiting for the day that Hongjoong would decide he had done enough. For the breaktime that he would decide he could actually rest, rather than using it to occupy other things required by him. 

For their day off when Hongjoong would finally sleep in and wake up late- yawning, eating a regularly paced meal and just lounging around with the rest of them- rather than grabbing something quick before bouncing off to the studio. 

It never came, though. 

So many comebacks, and Seonghwa hadn’t seen him stop yet. Anytime he saw Hongjoong, the others was focused on something intently- only drawn out by a physical touch that Seonghwa administered to tell him to come eat. 

It didn’t affect his mood too badly- just a stressed night here and there when things didn’t go right. Hongjoong continued to joke and play with the others, he continued to tease Seonghwa lightheartedly, and he continued to be one of the most hardworking people Seonghwa had ever seen. 

Seonghwa just didn’t know how to get him to calm down with it all. 

Trying to pull him away from these projects was near impossible, and Seonghwa had stopped trying quickly. 

The only times Seonghwa ever saw Hongjoong still and silent was when he was sleeping or spacing out. 

The whole “spacing out” thing didn’t happen often- Hongjoong didn’t  _ allow  _ it to happen often. His eyes would start to drift tiredly, and Seonghwa would hold his breath, hoping that they might fall shut, but Hongjoong would snap them awake and return to work with a new vigor. 

However, the few times that Hongjoong did finally slow- when there was finally nothing in front of him to occupy his attention, and when he finally took a breath- Seonghwa was mesmerized. 

Nothing lifted Seonghwa’s spirits more than entering a room and finding Hongjoong stared at a wall, fingers tapping to no rhythm and looking as if not a single thought was passing through his mind. 

When they were in the vans and they were done for the day and there was nothing else to do, and Hongjoong would put his headphones on, leaning against the window. And instead of watching his eyes flicker to watch the buildings and cars pass by, he would watch them glaze over with vacancy. 

It was probably a pretty stupid thing to get excited over, but Seonghwa had come to realize that this was the only break Hongjoong was going to get. 

Thus began to process of shushing the others when they got too loud while Hongjoong spaced out in the waiting rooms. Telling them not to knock on their bedroom door because Hongjoong had his headphones on and was dead to the world. 

Hongjoong was a dynamic human- always bouncing and moving and tapping and running. Like a solar-powered turbine, he just kept going and going, and it was amazing to watch that unfold day after day. Watching that energy that was fueled from being able to do the things he loved, even if it was hard. 

Seonghwa had gotten used to watching the endlessly looping machine that Hongjoong was- bright and everlasting- and so it was always a little shocking when he finally stopped. 

Seonghwa was always a little taken aback, a little breathless at the sight of Hongjoong staring off. 

For once, his eyes wouldn’t be bright with energy, but lightened with a natural glow that Hongjoong possessed, even when sitting completely still. 

His legs and arms that were always tapping and bouncing would be still in his lap, loose and languid without the constant surge of energy flowing through them. 

His lips would always part slightly- as if he were trying to think of what to say, but couldn’t bother to actually create the noise. Small but defined, pink lips parted in thought (or non-thought), only moving to moisten them when his breath would dry them out. 

Seonghwa always wondered what he thought about. 

Whether it was more work-related things, just being considered in a quiet manner for once. Whether it was nothing- just blank, white noise filled with nothing but peace. Whether it was about his past or their future. Whether it was happy or not, whether it was good or not. 

Sometimes, Hongjoong would sit like for much longer than any of the others- minutes passing like butterfly wing beats, and suddenly an hour would have passed that Hongjoong had spent thinking of nothing and everything. 

Seonghwa always kept an eye one him. Hongjoong had a tendency to obsess and over-stress on the littlest things. Seonghwa would sit (Hongjoong seemed completely unaware of him, despite the fact that Seonghwa had greeted him when he first entered), and watch carefully for the tick down of Hongjoong’s brows. 

For the slight furrow there, the slightest discomfort in his eyes that had begun to strain- 

Seonghwa would stand and place a hand on Hongjoong’s shoulder, drawing him out of his thoughts and sitting beside him. 

“What’re you thinking about?” he’d asked casually. 

Hongjoong would look at him, startled for a moment at the sudden withdrawal from his own mind. And if they were alone, he might lower his eyes, trying to remember what he had been thinking about. 

“Just wondering if we’ll actually make it.” 

“Just something that happened at practice.” 

“Just thinking about the meeting we have later.” 

And if they weren’t alone- if the others were gathered around as well, snickering as Hongjoong snapped back to reality violently- Hongjoong might hesitate. Might glance around at the others who were really no less in age than them, but that Hongjoong had drawn a small line between leader and group. 

And sometimes, Hongjoong would just shrug, and Seonghwa would never find out what it was that bothered him. And sometimes, he would whisper it quietly, careful not to make it into a big deal. And sometimes, he was confident enough to voice it so that the others might hear if they cared to listen in. 

Once, though, Seonghwa had been sitting across from Hongjoong at their dining table (unnoticed by him, somehow) and he saw Hongjoong’s lips suddenly twitch, eyes blank and vacant, a million miles away. But his lips lifted in the smallest smile- a light gathering in his distant eyes. 

It was a beautiful sight, and Seonghwa found his own lips curving as he tapping the table pointedly. 

Hongjoong blinked, eyes focusing on Seonghwa- not looking surprised to find him there- and Seonghwa smiled expectantly at him. 

“What’re you thinking about?” he questioned, Hongjoong’s face seeming torn for whether it should continue to smile or not. 

In the end, he smiled quietly, like warming your hands after being in the cold. “I was imagining if we won first place.” 

Seonghwa made a noise of understanding, something warm gathering in his stomach.

But Hongjoong went on, leaning on his fist. “And it was stupid, but I couldn’t help but think about… years later,” he murmured. “If we’d still be together for that long… If we’d make it big and still stick together.” His eyes got a little distance, but they held onto that light. “I think we will.” 

Seonghwa stared, a little stunned by the confession, but it warmed his blood and chest like alcohol- making him smile a little dumbly as he sat forward. 

“Well, sorry I interrupted it,” he apologized, making Hongjoong shake his head. 

“How will we ever reach there if I spend all my time daydreaming?” he posed, standing from his chair and grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. “I’m gonna be working in our room, okay?” 

Seonghwa should have known. But he smiled, nodding. “I’ll keep the kids away.” 

Hongjoong simply nodded in thanks, walking away and Seonghwa heard the distant sound of their door closing and clicking shut. 

He was sure that Hongjoong would work deep into the night, long after Seonghwa had managed to fall asleep. 

But, he had gotten a little moment of peace and a more-than-little happy thought to keep him going. 

That was good enough for Seonghwa, for now. 

Maybe tomorrow, there’d be an even better daydream for Hongjoong, who had carried so many of their own dreams successfully. 

They got first place. 

The whole night a whirlwind of emotion and thanks- Seonghwa barely even able to process what was happening- 

Like tunnel vision, he saw Hongjoong stand on the side of the stage, hand pressed to his mouth, expression twisted like the worst kind of agony, but Seonghwa knew that it was a joy of indescribable nature. 

Seonghwa was suddenly hugging them- tighter than the two of them had ever really had a reason to hug- and Hongjoong clung to him, all the days they had spent training and preparing seeming to crest and culminate in this one moment. 

“ _ Thank you _ .” 

It was all Seonghwa could manage to say. He wasn’t even sure Hongjoong heard him over the screaming fans and music beginning to play. But he said it anyway. Because Hongjoong had played a huge role in getting them this. 

Seonghwa had to wonder what sort of daydream Hongjoong might have now. Now that their first win was obtained, what was the next goal? 

Seonghwa noticed it almost right away- the way that Hongjoong seemed to space out more. Shorter periods of time (sometimes only a few seconds), but much more frequently. 

In the car, backstage, in interviews, at meals, on stage, at practice- Seonghwa wasn’t sure what it was, but every time Hongjoong wasn’t being directly spoken to, he was staring off. 

“What’re you thinking about?” Seonghwa would ask after he had to snap his fingers to get his attention. 

Hongjoong would look slightly panicked, being caught off-guard, but he would just shake his head and continue working vigorously. “N-Nothing. I wasn’t- Sorry, I’m just tired.” 

And it wasn’t anything bad- Hongjoong wasn’t getting in trouble for it. But it was just so abnormal that Seonghwa was beginning to get concerned. 

“Are you feeling sick?” Seonghwa asked worriedly when Hongjoong completely missed his bowl when pouring his cereal. Hongjoong stared at the spilled cereal in annoyance, but Seonghwa walked up to him, pressing a hand to Hongjoong’s forehead to check for a fever. 

Hongjoong stumbled away quickly, swatting Seonghwa’s hand away so quickly, Seonghwa froze. 

Hongjoong stared at him, look torn between worried and apologetic. “Y-Your hand is cold,” he said. “I feel fine- I’m just tired,” he restated firmly. 

“Are you not sleeping well?” Seonghwa asked when Hongjoong laid on his bed and stared at the ceiling, not hearing a word of anything Seonghwa had just said. 

Hongjoong shook his head quickly, slapping his cheeks to get himself to focus. “I’m sleeping fine, but I’m just- It’s nothing, I’m just tired.” He stood and left, giving some excuse about grabbing a snack. 

Seonghwa wasn’t really worried. Hongjoong had shown no other signs of fatigue or illness other than the vacant daydreaming, so Seonghwa just let him have these moments. He only interrupted when he  _ needed  _ to, and told San to leave him alone when the other got a little too close to aiming a piece of trash at their leader. 

Seonghwa entered their room, and Hongjoong was staring passed the screen of his laptop blankly, that same light in his eyes that Seonghwa had seen before- an almost wistful smile on his lips. 

Seonghwa waited just inside the door for Hongjoong to notice him, resting against the doorframe. 

For the first time in a while, Seonghwa watched him. 

His hair was slightly damp from the shower, and his pajamas were of the warm variety- covering from his neck to his wrists, making him look like a puffed bird. His expression was soft, and his eyes held a warm light to them. 

Seonghwa found himself smiling warmly, too. Hongjoong had that effect on him- turning Seonghwa into a mirror of his own emotions. He crossed the room after probably a little too long of staring at the gentle, stark features of his face. 

Seonghwa leaned against the desk that Hongjoong worked at. Rather than startling him into awareness, he simply saw Hongjoong’s eyes focus back on reality, though they continued to stare at the wall. 

He swallowed, but his eyes continued to hold that light. 

“What’re you thinking about?” Seonghwa asked quietly, feeling like he should keep his voice down. 

Hongjoong rolled his lips, one of his hands curling into a loose fist as he continued to stare. 

At the lack of immediate response, Seonghwa frowned gently. “You’ve been spacing out a lot lately,” he noted, reaching out and tucking a piece of longer hair behind Hongjoong’s ear delicately. “I know you’re saying you’re just tired… but I don’t think that’s entirely true.” 

Seonghwa had no right to try and force Hongjoong’s concerns out of him. But he wanted to help. 

He always wanted to help. He cared about Hongjoong- perhaps a bit more than the others, given the parts of Hongjoong that he was made privy to that the others were not. 

“I’m just… thinking,” Hongjoong whispered, not tearing his eyes away from the spot on the wall they clung to. 

Seonghwa thought back to all the quiet smiles Hongjoong had been holding while he stared with vacant warmth. He touched Hongjoong’s arm, wishing the other would look at him or something. 

“Thinking about what?” he requested gently, his hands brushing over the soft fabric of his pajamas. 

Hongjoong finally turned away from the wall, his eyes falling on Seonghwa’s hand resting on his arm. To Seonghwa’s surprise, Hongjoong chuckled quietly as he stared at his hand. 

Seonghwa frowned, not really sure what to make of his amusement. “Hongjoong?” he prompted quietly, rubbing his thumb over the faux fur. “What have you been thinking about?” 

It was a gentle request to trust Seonghwa- one that he half-expected to be brushed off once more. 

But Hongjoong simply lifted his eyes to Seonghwa- that same light shining through them warmly, and the gentle smile on his lips something fond and genuine. 

Seonghwa felt his stomach flip. 

Hongjoong smiled, at peace. 

“You.” 


	2. Balter

Balter- (v) to dance artlessly, without particular skill or grace but usually with enjoyment 

Wooyoung was a dancer. 

He was born to be one, according to anyone who had ever met him. He loved to show off and perform and boast the newest move he had nailed smoothly- ever since the beginning. His friends were dancers, the movies he watched were about dancing, and the videos he subscribed to see were all dancers. 

And Wooyoung liked to dance  _ well _ . He liked sharp movements and quick feet and impressive poses. He enjoyed all kinds of dance, but he preferred a sharp hip-hop to a slow contemporary (despite having tried his hand at it and doing well, as usual). 

Wooyoung didn’t think himself an expert, but like any person who was good at something they loved, he would watch others and critique. 

Nothing harsh, but a side note in the back of his mind that one move could have been smoother, or a beat had been missed on their turn. Little notes that he made as naturally as he breathed.

He liked to think those were also critiques against him- about things he should learn not to do, or things to be wary of if he saw it in a lot of people. 

And throughout his time in the entertainment company he had been accepted into, he had received his fair share of criticism as well. Harsh and constructive alike. Some of them made Wooyoung hang his head in shame, and others made him burn with a desire to be better- to be the  _ best _ . 

Every person here had that fire- it’s what made their lives so competitive. Wooyoung ate, slept, and bled dance- and so did everyone else. If you took a break, you were already three steps behind. Such was the nature of the idol industry. 

Wooyoung was used to seeing people, half-dead on their feet with no sleep, stumbling to beats and songs that they had drummed into their heads. No time of night or day was safe from these fiery zombies that were determined to live their dreams. 

Wooyoung was no exception. 

Which is why he found himself at the dance studio at 3 AM because he couldn’t sleep and was feeling anxious about the evaluation he had the next day. Sleep would have been a better option, probably, but the trainee life was not about making good choices. 

He nodded politely to the security guard who only nodded back in quiet pity for the kids who were killing themselves for their dreams. 

Wooyoung had his bag slung over his shoulder as he went to the first practice room, pushing the door open- 

The light was already on, he realized after it was open. 

Wooyoung didn’t know if someone had just left it one or- 

And it was only after he scanned the room that he saw a lone figure dancing- not to any music. 

Wooyoung intended to just back out quietly as soon as he realized the room was taken, but he stood in confusion. The person looked a little crazy- dancing with all the passion of standing on stage but without any music playing. 

And the longer he looked, it only made him frown harder as he saw the trainee spin, landing loosely on one foot before jerking into another direction- like he wasn’t sure where he wanted to go. 

The movements weren’t panicked, they were just… uncoordinated. As if he was making it up as he went. 

It wasn’t until the boy turned halfway towards Wooyoung that he realized three things. 

One, that it wasn’t that the boy was crazy- he had headphones in his ears, providing him the music he danced to. Two, that the trainees eyes were closed quietly- not in frustration, but as if he were just enjoying the music. 

And three, that Wooyoung recognized the trainee as Yeosang (his last name escaped him). 

Wooyoung wouldn’t consider them friends any more than anyone else among the dozens of other trainees. But they had trained together for a while now, and Wooyoung recognized him as someone he had seen around, and maybe been paired up with for stretching once or twice. 

The real thing that made his name stick in Wooyoung’s mind was how much the boy stood out (seemingly despite his best efforts). 

Yeosang wasn’t exactly shy (a shy trainee would never make it far) but it was clear that the center of attention was not where he wanted to be (another weird characteristic of someone training to be an idol). 

He kept to the back during dances, and if a choreographer were to reprimand him, you wouldn’t see his head lift from the ground for the rest of the day. 

He seemed sensitive- easily spooked, and someone who would rather just exist in his own world. He wasn’t a bad dancer, but if he got nervous, he made mistakes- which meant the instructors tended to call him out often. 

The biggest reason Wooyoung recognized his face specifically was the fact that despite his timidness- and the way he would shrink in on himself at the slightest harsh word- the boy never  _ stopped _ . 

During their short breaks, Wooyoung would manage to unstick his back from the floor, drinking water that they had been denied for hours, and he would look out at the dozens of trainees spread across the floor, chests heaving and miserable with exhaustion. 

And, like clockwork, he would notice Yeosang standing in the corner, going through half-serious movements of the choreo they were working on- hair stuck to him and his shirt a darker shade of its original color with sweat. 

If someone called him out to take a break, he would flush a deep color of embarrassment, but ensure them he was fine. 

Wooyoung couldn’t begin to place a decision on if Yeosang would make it through this program- he had determination in abundance, clearly, but Wooyoung didn’t know if he had the confidence to stand up against others. 

Wooyoung hadn’t meant to linger in the doorway, but he was still standing there when Yeosang turned (off balance, and not steady at all), his eyes opening to ensure there was nothing near his arms that came out- 

The other boy shrieked at the figure that had joined him in the room, his unsteady spin crashing to the floor as he scrambled back, ripping his earphones out, staring at Wooyoung with wide eyes. 

Wooyoung jerked forward at the harsh sound of skin hitting the practice room floor- 

“Sorry!” he burst, not quite making it over to the other boy before he paused. Yeosang bent over, clutching at his chest. “ _ Sorry _ , I was just- I was looking for an empty practice room-” 

Yeosang shook his head, lifting his head, chest heaving. “N-No, I- You just startled me, no one ever comes at this hour-” He took a large breath, getting to his feet and untangling his headphones from his neck and hands. 

“I didn’t think anyone else would be here either,” Wooyoung admitted, glad to see that he hadn’t caused the other to twist his ankle or anything else detrimental. 

(Wooyoung probably would have had a panic attack if he caused something like that.) 

Yeosang wrapped his headphones around his hand. “I was just…” He hesitated, like he was trying to find a word. “I was… practicing.” 

“I didn’t recognize the choreo,” Wooyoung noted, surprised that Yeosang hadn’t booked it from the room yet to avoid him. He shifted his bag. “That’s not the one we’ve been learning.” 

Yeosang dropped his eyes to his headphones, twisting the cord around his finger. “Uh- no,” he said, and Wooyoung watched his ears burn with embarrassment or stress. “No, it was...I mean, it’s just something I was… working… on. It’s not good,” Yeosang said quickly, like Wooyoung might have assumed it was. “I was just… dancing…” he finished lamely, not lifting his eyes to Wooyoung. 

Wooyoung watched Yeosang for a moment, trying to figure out if he should just wish the boy a good night and continue on his way or not. “You… were choreographing?”

Wooyoung hadn’t known Yeosang had that sort of interest. 

“No,” Yeosang said quickly, shaking his head, finally looking at Wooyoung- ears red and creeping up his neck. “No, not- I wouldn’t call it that, I was just… Making it up as I went… I wasn’t being serious, just… fooling around.” His voice died out again, as if he was waiting for the point that Wooyoung started laughing. 

Wooyoung wasn’t sure what he would laugh at, though. 

“You were just messing around in a practice room at 3 in the morning?” Wooyoung clarified. Usually, these times were only reserved for the most desperate of people seeking extra practice. 

(Or an ease for insomnia.) 

Yeosang shrugged, which Wooyoung took to mean “yes.” 

“It was… interesting choreo,” Wooyoung said, smiling encouragingly. 

Truthfully, Wooyoung didn’t know what Yeosang was doing because he  _ knew  _ that he could dance better than that. He had  _ seen  _ him dance better than that. 

So why had he looked like some amateur a minute ago? 

Yeosang continued to fiddle with the headphone cord, one hand coming up to tug at his damp hair. “It sucked,” he said so bluntly, that Wooyoung momentarily didn’t know if he was supposed to laugh or not. 

He didn’t, and Yeosang just shook his head. “I know it did- but I wasn’t  _ trying _ ,” he said quickly, like he was afraid Wooyoung might mistake him for being serious. “I just mess around- I just… dance without thinking, I guess. Not all the time!” he corrected quickly. “Just… at times like these. I just dance.” 

Wooyoung hadn’t “just danced” in a while. 

When he was younger, before he had taken any classes, Wooyoung used to just throw himself around his living room- calling his spastic movements “dance” and laughing as he did so, his mom filming the whole thing. 

But dance was his job now. He took it seriously- and it wasn’t like Wooyoung didn’t enjoy the hell out of every moment. But he stared at Yeosang- who danced all day, but still set aside a time to just… move. 

It was weird. 

“Okay,” Wooyoung said, not sure what he was supposed to say. “That’s cool. I liked your spin.” 

“You don’t have to say anything nice about it,” Yeosang murmured, swiping his hair back from his eyes, not meeting Wooyoung’s. “I know it sucked, but… I was just… you know, dancing.” 

Wooyoung wasn’t quite sure if he did know, but he nodded anyway. 

It ended with the two of them standing awkwardly until Wooyoung excused himself to find a different practice room, citing the hour and evaluation as his reasons. Yeosang let him go with more cringes of embarrassment. 

Wooyoung didn’t find it all that embarrassing. He just didn’t really understand it. 

You know how you’ll be staring out of a window, and everything is fine, but then you notice a smudge in the corner? And it’s not a big one, but you noticed it, and now you can’t stop noticing it? Even when you try to forget about it- it’s always in the corner of your vision? 

Yeosang became a smudge on Wooyoung’s window. 

Wooyoung couldn’t seem to walk through the halls without noticing Yeosang going the other way. He couldn’t sit in the cafeteria without noticing him sitting (usually by himself) a distance away. 

Wooyoung had nothing against Yeosang, and he seemed like a pretty cool guy. And Wooyoung could respect anyone who liked dancing so much, as to set aside time to just do it without thinking. 

Wooyoung invited Yeosang to eat with him and his friends. Sometimes he accepted, and most of the time, he didn’t. 

Wooyoung could usually convince him to be stretching partners before practice. And if Wooyoung happened to be passing by alone, he could weasle a conversation out of him about how his day was going. 

Yeosang continued to watch Wooyoung warily, like he was waiting for the moment Wooyoung laughed. For the camera to come out. For some other shoe to drop. 

But after a few weeks, Yeosang seemed to believe Wooyoung was being genuine. (Wooyoung had never needed to reason to make friends, but he had to admit that he was curious after their night in the practice room.) 

Wooyoung sat outside on a rare day they didn’t have practice (the electricity was acting up, so they had the afternoon free). He sat in the courtyard in the back of the company building, laying down in the grass. 

He fell asleep at some point, and when he woke up, it was to the sound of feet shuffling through grass. 

Wooyoung frowned sleepily at the confusing sound, but he sat up, glancing around to see who had joined him. 

His eyes immediately fell on Yeosang, standing in the shadows of two walls of the building- his headphones on and his body doing that jerky movement from before. 

And in the quickness of the night they had happened upon each other, Wooyoung hadn’t noticed, but here in the light of day- Wooyoung very clearly noticed the smile on Yeosang’s lips. 

Wooyoung knew all about that feeling of the bass thumping and the chorus blaring- the instinct to move and dance and turn all the things that sparked inside of him into movement. 

He had never seen it done so quietly, though. 

Too quickly, Yeosang noticed him sitting in the grass, gasping and jerking off his headphones (he didn’t fall this time). 

“I didn’t see you!” Yeosang blurted, like an excuse. As if he didn’t have as much right to be here as Wooyoung. 

Wooyoung had to laugh at it, though- his mind a little slow from being asleep. “I fell asleep out here.” He rubbed at his eyes before glancing at Yeosang again, who looked as if he was waiting for Wooyoung to drop that other shoe again. 

Wooyoung honestly didn’t know what Yeosang kept waiting for him to say. 

“Why are you dancing out here? It’s hot.” 

Yeosang tugged at his headphones again. “I- I was just- The practice rooms are all closed for now- I didn’t think anyone else would be out here.” 

Wooyoung stood, dusting grass from his ass that was a little damp from the dirt. “You were just dancing again?” Wooyoung asked, lips quirking up in amusement. 

He didn’t expect Yeosang’s head to drop further, hiding his expression. “I… I wasn’t being serious, I was… I was just dancing…” His voice turned quieter until it faded out, Wooyoung paused where he stood, frowning. 

“I’m not making fun of you,” He said suddenly. 

Yeosang glanced up, expression withdrawn. “Then what are you saying?” 

“I was just… asking,” Wooyoung tried. He honestly hadn’t been making fun. It was cool to watch him dance. “I don’t think anyone else here would put time aside to just… dance something that wasn’t the required choreos.” 

Yeosang shrugged, twirling the cord between his fingers. “I just like dancing… even if it’s not good. I just… I like being able to dance without it being serious all the time. I like that freedom.” 

To Wooyoung, being able to pull off a routine perfectly was freedom- a rush like no other. 

But to Yeosang, it seemed like being able to move was his freedom. Move without someone telling him how to. Move without anyone telling him it wasn’t right. 

Wooyoung found his smile growing more genuine as Yeosang stared in slight concern. “That’s pretty cool,” he said honestly. “Dancing for dancing’s sake… I think someone wrote a paper on that before.” 

It wasn’t what Wooyoung did. It wasn’t what Wooyoung followed. 

But Yeosang smiled hesitantly, still worried, but nodded quietly. 

You know the saying “dance like no one’s watching?” Well, Wooyoung didn’t like that saying because people were  _ always  _ watching. 

Wooyoung always danced as if a million people were watching, critiquing, grading his every move. 

Yeosang, he found, danced like no one was watching. 

That’s why the instructors picked on him so much- Yeosang forgot they were even there. 

They were the driving force that sent Yeosang to Wooyoung, a pained smile telling him that he was leaving the company. 

Nearly a month later, Wooyoung got a text saying that Yeosang had gotten settled in another company. It was better for him, Yeosang told him. A better fit to his style than one so rigid. 

Wooyoung mulled it over for a couple of weeks, and then he followed. 

Yeosang kept dancing as if no one was watching. 

Wooyoung continued to dance like he was standing in a full stadium. At their other company, Wooyoung had made friends on the pretense of both being trainees and being dancers. 

This new place was no different. 

There was San who had an intense style Wooyoung would kill for, and Yunho who somehow managed to dance beautifully despite being twice Wooyoung’s size- 

Wooyoung liked these people. 

What he liked the most was Yeosang being unchanged by them. Wooyoung still found him hiding in practice rooms and corners- with headphones and without, dancing to music he either heard in his ears or his heart. 

It was messy and unrefined, but Wooyoung would watch him more intently than his best YouTube dancers. 

Wooyoung was under no illusion that everyone showed their passion in the same way. He could see that starkly between himself and anyone else. 

But Wooyoung was always a little mesmerized by Yeosang dancing because it took  _ real  _ passion and  _ real  _ commitment and  _ real  _ love of something to do it subparly. To do it, just for the sake of doing it. 

Not doing it for anyone but yourself. Doing it simply for the joy of doing it- not being good at it. 

(That’s not to say that Yeosang wasn’t good at dancing- he kept up with the rest of them just fine.) 

Ateez was a thing. 

And when they all were shoved into a dorm together, Wooyoung immediately claimed Yeosang as a roommate, not even letting the others get a word in before the two of them were running off to the room they chose. 

Wooyoung continued to dance because he loved it, finally having his dream pay off into reality. He had a group, he had friends, he had people who were living their dreams with him. 

And he still found Yeosang dancing in their room in the dorm, the door unlocked and slightly ajar as Wooyoung would come in after his shower, just standing there and trying not to let laughs escape as Yeosang danced without a thought that he was being watched. 

Not that it would matter if he did. 

It took several moments for Yeosang to realize he had company, but unlike the other times, he simply smiled at Wooyoung- doing an exaggerated spin that would have gotten him two extra hours of practice in front of an instructor. 

But there was no one here, and Wooyoung laughed at the obtuse gestures Yeosang threw into his already ridiculous routine. 

“Well?” he asked over the music in his ears, lifting an eyebrow at Wooyoung expectantly. “Are you just going to stand there?” 

“For as long as you’re a flying objects hazard, yeah,” Wooyoung chuckled, arms crossing over his chest. 

Yeosang laughed quietly, finally taking his headphones out. “Are you going to join me?” 

It was an offer that was extended before, but Wooyoung shook his head, closing the door and moving to sit on his bottom bunk. “Nah, but I’ll watch.” He settled on his side, Yeosang cocking an eyebrow at him. 

“Are you going to sarcastically call out scores like they do for diving?” he asked suspiciously. 

Wooyoung snorted. “Tempting, but no. I’ll just watch.” 

He expected Yeosang to put his phone away, but the other just shrugged, putting his headphones back in and resuming his elaborate plot to smack as many objects off their surfaces as possible. 

Wooyoung just watched, unable to wipe the smile off his face- snorted the few times Yeosang caught his eye and threw in a random gesture that had no business being in that dance. 

Wooyoung didn’t say a word, though. 

He just let Yeosang dance as if he was the only person in the world. 

And within Yeosang’s mind, he might as well be. 


	3. Elysian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have all six pre-written and so I will update every day!  
I actually really like these cute little ones! I hope you guys enjoy too!  
Let me know what you think!  
-SS

Elysian- (adj) beautiful or creative; divinely inspired; peaceful and perfect 

“Do these colors go well together?”

Seonghwa didn’t look up from the drama playing quietly from his phone. “Hongjoong, I have as much idea if those two colors go as I have the last eighteen colors you’ve shown me.” 

“You didn’t even look!”

Seonghwa sighed, rolling over on his top bunk to stare at Hongjoong on the floor. He held up two paint markers- both a very similar light blue color. 

“Are those even different colors?” Seonghwa asked, squinting at them. 

“You’re  _ impossible _ ,” Hongjoong huffed, throwing a different market at Seonghwa that just wound up landing on Hongjoong’s bunk. “ _ And _ color blind!” 

He pouted as he dragged the jean pants closer, examining their rips and half-painted legs and pockets. He’d been at this for about five hours now, and Seonghwa had been privy to every sigh and groan, but was not allowed to put his headphones in, because Hongjoong might need him. 

( _ Hongjoong _ told him he wasn’t allowed to put his headphones on because he might need him.) 

Seonghwa sighed, finally sitting up to see properly. Hongjoong held up the two markers again, still glaring at Seonghwa. “They look okay to me,” he said honestly. “Where are you putting them?” 

Hongjoong gestured back to the pants, hovering his finger over a dark black that was painted messily across the legs. “They’re gonna be clouds.” 

Seonghwa tilted his head, seriously considering it. (Because as much as he just wanted to watch his drama, Hongjoong asked him his opinion seriously, and Seonghwa wasn’t going to take that lightly.) 

“Yeah, they should match pretty well,” Seonghwa said, using the best of his ability, however lackluster it might be. 

Hongjoong hummed, holding the colored bits of the marker against the dark background. “Yeah, I guess so…” Seonghwa went back to his drama as Hongjoong spent another ten minutes debating with himself. 

When Seonghwa glanced down at the end of the episode- the blues were nowhere in sight and the dark background had been overtaken with red and orange. 

“What happened to the clouds?” he questioned, Hongjoong hunched over the ground, carefully outlining a shape on top of the colors in white. 

It took Hongjoong several seconds of concentration before he sat up, stretching his hand out. “Decided to take a different turn- I want them on a sunset. And then I’m gonna make each pocket night and day.” 

Seonghwa hummed, taking a moment to watch Hongjoong work. 

Seonghwa liked building things- he had figurines and things like that scattered around from when he had time for that, but it took a different kind of delicate hand to create the smooth lines and pictures that Hongjoong could. 

Hongjoong loved to create. It was as simple as that. 

In every form, in every possible concept, Hongjoong wanted to take the millions of things running through his head and push them into being- and he somehow had the talent and drive to do so. 

Seonghwa prioritized sleep over making another action figure. 

Hongjoong was the one who would work into the night, by the light of the lamp at the desk- writing lyrics, composing songs, painting fabric, coloring shoes, stitching and ripping apart cloth until his fingers bled (which had scared Seonghwa the first time he noticed it). 

Hongjoong used so many mediums to open his mind to, it was dizzying sometimes. 

He bounced from concept to concept without a care- dropping his lyrics to hem a pair of pants, setting down his paintbrush when a sudden through for the ending chorus popped into his head- 

His motivation was endless, as was his inspiration. 

Hongjoong just  _ saw  _ the word differently. He saw everything as a piece of art that he had either created or took inspiration from. Seonghwa always wondered how he had the energy for it, the drive for it- on top of everything else they had to do. 

“It’s not work,” Hongjoong had explained to him. “It’s fun. It’s relaxing. It makes me feel good when I get to see that finished product.” He had smiled quietly. “It makes me feel really good...” 

Seonghwa didn’t know how groaning and throwing around fabric and pens in frustration was relaxing, but he trusted Hongjoong. 

He saw it sometimes, though. When he would walk by their room on his way to the living room, and Hongjoong would be curled up in a chair with a marker in hand and a half-colored shoe on his knee. 

There were times when he wasn’t throwing things- when he was just lost in the rush of things exiting his mind, flowing through pens onto whatever canvas he had chosen. 

His brow would furrow in concentration, and his tongue would peek out as he tried not to mess up the smallest detail- delicate hands and fingers putting tiny touches into place as carefully as one might perform surgery. 

There were also times when Seonghwa would hear his latest work go clattering to the floor, Hongjoong huffing and puffing in frustration at a mistake or misplaced stroke. 

And there would be silence for a few minutes, Seonghwa waiting patiently for when Hongjoong would climb off his bed and pick it back up, glaring at it as if it were a new challenge he had been presented with. 

And Hongjoong would take that mistake, and simply change his ideas around it. He worked around the mistake, forming it into his art and making something beautiful out of it. 

Hongjoong was inspiring. In more ways than one, Seonghwa knew that the others (and himself), as much as they teased him, marveled at what he was able to accomplish. 

“Where do you even get ideas for this?” San had asked him, watching Hongjoong completely rip off the sleeves of a jacket and begin tearing them open. 

“I dunno,” he muttered distractedly, carefully pulling apart seams. “It just… It’s in my head, I guess.” 

Seonghwa didn’t know where he got all the ideas he had. From the music he created to the lyrics he wrote to the monstrosity of the clothing he reformed that turned into something incredible at the last second. 

Sometimes- when they were busy and Hongjoong hadn’t had a chance to be in the studio in a week and he’d had no time to take out his art supplies- Seonghwa would notice the ways his hands twitched. 

They way they grabbed pens and twirled them between his fingers, finding scraps of paper to write nonsense lyrics on because it was  _ something  _ to do. The way he would almost begin to draw on his own skin before remembering that the managers and stylists would scold him for it. 

Hongjoong loved to create. He created things that no one in their right mind would ever think to create, and when he didn’t have a place to put those creative urges, they bottled up like an addict being denied their choice substance. 

(A little less horrific, though.) 

They went two weeks without a chance for Hongjoong to do anything but practice, practice, perform, and sleep. 

They had an afternoon free, and Hongjoong was practically bouncing in his seat on the ride back to the dorm, his fingers tapping and twisting around each other as he stared out the window intently, as if planning how many things he was going to make- 

Seonghwa caught his hand that had been brought to his mouth to chew on his nail, smirking as Hongjoong glanced at him. 

“You’re gonna hate yourself for biting off your nails,” Seonghwa warned him. 

Hongjoong squeezed his hand tightly, still bouncing, looking impatient. “I just want to  _ paint _ ,” he said, voice barely restrained. “I’ve had this idea for an inverted color background on the back of a jacket, and I know exactly where everything is, I just need to  _ get there _ .” 

“Hyung’s going into withdrawal,” Jongho muttered from behind them. 

“He’s been in withdrawal for a while now,” Wooyoung snickered, one headphone hanging out. “He’s about to lose it.” 

“Shut up,” Hongjoong huffed, leaning his head against the pillow. Everyone snickered at his offended pouting. 

Soenghwa didn’t realize he was still holding Hongjoong’s hand until he felt it keep twitching, his fingers shifting within Seonghwa’s. 

“Should we not expect you to leave your cave for the next eight hours?” he questioned, chuckling. 

Hongjoong gave him a glare with no heat. “You think you’re getting out of this?” he questioned. 

Seonghwa blinked. “Out of what?” 

Hongjoong smirked, looking triumphant as he gazed out the window. “You’re about to spend the next eight hours telling me what looks good. I’ve got the idea, but I need feedback on a few things.” 

Seonghwa stared. “Wh- So I don’t get an afternoon off?”

“You do,” Hongjoong said, snickering. “You just get to spend it all with me. Won’t that be fun?” He grinned at Seonghwa, knowing exactly how much he was annoying him. “Maybe I’ll even let you claim co-ownership on it.” 

Hongjoong leaned his head against the window, not leaving any room for arguing. 

Seonghwa huffed. “Fine, but I’m watching my drama while you do,” he muttered. 

“Deal,” Hongjoong laughed. 

Like all such endeavours, it ended with Seonghwa getting distracted by what Hongjoong was doing, and abandoning his drama to watch on the floor with him- Hongjoong occasionally pointed at a place he wanted Seonghwa to hold or making him keep a crease in place. 

Seonghwa acted annoyed, but it wasn’t so deep. 

He quite liked watching Hongjoong flux and wane like a wave against the sand. Like a flickering flame- burning brighter and then dimming with each passing breeze, cyclical and constant. 

(There was a near breakdown when Hongjoong’s paint smudged around the edges, but Seonghwa was able to calm him with a glass of water and a snack after five hours.) 

And they were back to Hongjoong creating swirls that looked like nothing until that final touch that turned them into brilliant backdrops of nature and abstractness. 

Seonghwa sat quietly- silently marveling at the overflowing inspiration that Hongjoong managed to impart onto jean fabric and canvas. 

One day, he might be able to find the words to tell him how good it really was, rather than an assuring nod and a statement of “Looks great!” 

One day, Seonghwa might be inspired enough to put what he thought of Hongjoong into words. He might be able to paint with words, like Hongjoong did, and actually give his honest opinion on everything he had created. 

But for now, he wasn’t that creative. He wasn’t that talented. So he could only smile as Hongjoong asked his opinion yet again- valuing and considering it, despite Seonghwa’s lack of artist ability. 

For now, he would have to insult Hongjoong with a simple statement of “It looks  _ good _ ,” and hope that somewhere in his eyes was enough sincerity that Hongjoong might believe him. 

Hongjoong smiled, looking proud, and Seonghwa felt a little better that maybe Hongjoong understood without Seonghwa being able to say it. 


	4. Mangata

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The soulmate au is coming along nicely! I’m having a lot of fun writing it!  
Thank you for all the love this little thing is getting- you guys are awesome!!  
-SS

Mangata- (n) the reflection of the moon on the water

They had done it. 

They had debuted together. They had stood on stage together. That was everything and more than Yeosang had ever expected to come of their journey. 

A foreign tour. 

It was the last thing that had been on their list, and the moment they found out about it, everyone’s eyes had lit up with disbelieving joy. 

Yeosang couldn’t quite believe it. But suddenly he was standing on American soil with a concert in five hours, and Yeosang really couldn’t remember how he’d gotten here. 

“It’s American air!” Wooyoung yelled into the sky, taking a large breath that puffed his chest out. “It smells different!” 

“It smells like a bakery,” Yunho noted, nose sniffing at the air gently as they unloaded their bags at the hotel. “Their air smells like a bakery.” 

“I think that would be the bakery across the street,” Jongho snorted, pointing across the road at a little corner shop. “I don’t think it’s a general American air thing.” 

Yeosang chuckled, all of them being swept up immediately into another car set to bring them to the venue. 

Regardless of what people may assume, Yeosang lived to be on stage. The biggest bar against that was his annoying tendency to get flustered and shrink into the background, but when Yeosang found a breath of confidence, he clung to it and let it fuel him for days. 

The American venues were unbelievable. Despite the speed with which they flew through them, they all remain stark and prominent in his mind individually. 

The lights were blinding and the music was deafening, but Yeosang felt that bubble of excitement that overtook any sort of hesitancies he might experience as they danced and played through their routine. 

All eight of them rode a different kind of high through all the tiring work they were required to perform. A different kind of energy or buzz than any substance could ever hope to give them. 

And when Yeosang glanced across the stage and found Wooyoung’s eyes already glancing at him- their eyes bursting with dreams they had held since before they were teenagers- it was another shot of whatever buzz was making the screaming crowd grow quiet in his ears. 

They had made it. 

Their schedule was brutal- with few breaks and even fewer opportunities to breathe in between everything. And then suddenly they were in Europe and it was yet again completely different from anything Yeosang had ever known before. 

They performed, running only on caffeine and adrenaline fueled by their excitement- passion being the only thing keeping them moving at times. 

And at the end of each night, they tried to shake off the buzz that came with the stage, trying to wind down and calm themselves enough to sleep before their next schedule. 

Yeosang liked rooming with Seonghwa because he wasn’t one to stay up late playing video games (Yeosang had gotten used to seeing the little glow from the bottom bunk). 

Rinse and repeat for one of the most amazing experiences that Yeosang had never dreamed to have in his life. 

It was their last day before they would return to Korea. And for once, they had no plans on sleeping early- knowing that they could rest on the plane back over and wanting to use the rest of their time wisely. 

They couldn’t leave the hotel, but Yeosang knew that at least San, Mingi, and Jongho had gone down to the pool. Hongjoong was probably composing, and Seonghwa was sitting across from Yeosang on his own bed, staring at his phone. 

Sometimes, making the most of your night meant taking a break and mindless scrolling social media. 

Seonghwa hummed suddenly, sitting up in the bed. “Mingi says they’re serving food down by the pool.” He glanced at Yeosang. “Wanna come down with me?” 

Yeosang glanced up from the cute puppy photo he was in the process of liking and considered it. He was comfortable. But also teetering on the edge of bored. 

“Yeah, sure,” he said, sitting up, both of them changing into their swimsuits, pulling on t-shirts over them. Yeosang wasn’t sure if he would actually swim, but it would be nice to get up and moving. 

And get food. 

They rode the elevator down, Seonghwa texting Hongjoong to ensure he also knew about the food. “Where’s Wooyoung?” Yeosang questioned, suddenly realizing he didn’t know where the other had gone. 

“I think he headed down with the others,” Seonghwa replied, still staring at his phone. “I don’t remember, though. He might have stayed in his room.” 

Yeosang was going to text him, but the doors opened, so they stepped out together, walking through the lobby towards the pool. 

There was no one down there but them, at this hour, but somehow there was still food being served at a little mini-bar but off to the side, glowing with gentle lights. 

Yeosang heard Mingi yelling for them to hurry up, but it was swiftly silenced by Yunho shoving him under water, San cackling where he leapt into the pool, creating a tidal wave. Yeosang snickered, silently hoping that Mingi didn’t actually drown. 

Seonghwa, the ever responsible hyung, hurried over, scolding them for playing so roughly- warning them that one of them was going to get hurt. 

Yeosang continued on at his slow pace, and it wasn’t until he got closer that he realized Wooyoung was sitting outside of the pool on one of those reclining lawn chairs used for sunbathing. 

Wooyung wasn’t watching the ensuing water fight and egging them on. He was leaning back against the chair, eyes turned upward- expression not quite fallen, but seeming more serious than he should be, sitting two feel from a perfectly good pool. 

Yeosang swerved the pool for now, walking around it towards Wooyoung. How long had he been out here like this? His clothes weren’t wet, so it didn’t seem like he had gone in the pool at all. 

Wooyoung didn’t even notice Yeosang until he was shoving at Wooyoung’s shoulder, telling him to move over. Wooyoung jerked out of his thoughts, shifting over in the chair and allowing Yeosang to squeeze into the space beside him, the two of them laying back together. 

“What are you doing?” Yeosang asked casually, staring up at the stars above them that were dimmed slightly by the city lights. 

Wooyoung was quiet for a moment, clearly thinking something over. Because despite his stage and public persona, Wooyoung could be very introspective and quiet when he wanted to. Usually with matters involving the group and his own future. But sometimes with other things a well. 

Like this time. 

“The moon is really bright,” Wooyoung finally said quietly. 

Yeosang blinked in surprise at the answer- he hadn’t even noticed the moon while he was staring at the stars. He shifted his eyes forward and sure enough, there was a bright, full moon hanging in the dark sky, casting everything in a lighter glow. 

Yeosang watched it for a moment, letting the quiet of it wash over him (ignoring San’s screams for Mingi to let him go). It really was a pretty moon. 

Yeosang hadn’t bothered looking at the moon in a while. They were too busy to. 

“It’s pretty,” Yeosang admitted quietly. “It looks bigger here than it does in Korea.” 

Wooyoung hummed quietly. “That’s what I’ve been thinking about…” 

He frowned without looking at Wooyoung. “The size of the moon?” he questioned, confused. 

“No,” Wooyoung chuckled quietly, shaking his head. “Just that… it looks different here. But it’s the same moon we see every night in Korea. It’s the same moon we used to look at before.” 

Yeosang laughed quietly, tilting his head to watch Wooyoung. “You’re still thinking about that?”

There was only one time that Yeosang and Wooyoung had stared up at night with each other, and it was the night before a big evaluation for the both of them. Neither could sleep, but both were too tired to go practice, so they just sat outside their little dorm on the steps and stared up at the sky that held no stars- the city light too bright to allow them. 

Wooyoung had stared up at the little sliver of moon they could see, quiet and thoughtful. “You ever think about the fact that everyone’s always been looking at the same moon?” he asked. “And a hundred years from now, we’ll still be looking at it?” 

Yeosang had hummed. “Not really.” 

“Maybe when we debut, we’ll look back and think about… how this is the same moon we used to look at when we were kids.” 

The others all climbed out of the pool in favor of splitting of plate of nachos advertised on the side of the snack bar. Everyone left them to their own devices, as usual. 

“I guess it’s pretty poetic,” Yeosang said quietly, even as his chest warmed with memories. Somehow, even all the bad moments had become part of the big life he lived now. It all lead up to this. “We made it, though,” he murmured. “We didn’t really think we would… but we did.” 

All the doubts the two had shared- both silent and spoken- had been nullified by the opportunities afforded them now. 

“Look,” Wooyoung said, eyes finally looking down. He leaned forward. “The moon’s so bright you can see it in the water.” 

Yeosang sat up, and sure enough, without the others splashing and churning, there was a clear disk of light visible in the now-calm waters. 

The pool water still rippled and shifted, making the moon’s image dance, but Yeosang found that almost more mesmerizing than the real moon, staring at the way it flickered and flowed. 

“I’m glad we made it here,” Wooyoung whispered quietly, curling around his knees with a quiet smile. “It’s not where I thought we’d end up… but I’m glad it’s where we are now.” 

Yeosang felt his own lips quirk up peacefully as he glanced at Wooyoung, leaning his shoulder into the other, who took his weight. “We always knew we’d make it together.” 

The other nodded quietly, the two of them existing in their own world for a moment, ignoring the others’ voices that argued over nachos. 

Debut together. Stand on stage together. Stay together. 

Those had been their goals. Those were the mantras that kept them going through all the uncertainty and fear they faced. 

And maybe Yeosang didn’t say it as much as he should, but… “I’m proud of us,” Yeosang said. 

It made Wooyoung glance at him, looking surprised by the declaration, but then it softened into something warmer. “Me, too.” 

Yeosang looked at the reflection of the moon on the water, letting himself get lost in the way it flowed. 

It was destroyed by Yunho suddenly leaping into the pool, creating a wave so large, Wooyoung and Yeosang flinched away from the spray of it. 

“Watch it!” Wooyoung shouted, shaking water off his arm, their peaceful moment shattering. 

“Then jump in yourselves before we bring the water to you!” Mingi warned, leaping into the water. Wooyoung stood, glaring with his hands on his hips. 

“I have every right to want to stay on the side!” he declared pointedly. “Knock it off or you’ll find your clothes thrown in there after you!” 

Mingi stuck his tongue out, and Wooyoung took a half step towards him, like he was thinking of all the things he was going to do once Mingi was out. 

“Buzz kill!” San jeered as he climbed onto Yunho’s back. 

Yeosang stood as well as Wooyoung approached the pool determinedly. “Splash me again,” he threatened, pointing a warning finger at Jongho who was gearing up. “I swear to-” 

Yeosang suddenly stood behind Wooyoung, hands shoving him forward with a cackle. 

Wooyoung yelped as he went tumbling over the edge of the pool, flailing for a moment to catch himself- 

And his hand wrapped through Yeosang’s shirt sleeve. 

Well played or just damn good luck. 

Yeosang choked as Wooyoung dragged him down into the pool as well, the cold water surrounding them as Yeosang immediately shot to the surface, shaking water out of his eyes- 

“-sshole!” Wooyoung shrieked, eyes covered by his hair that stuck to his forehead. “Kang Yeosang, I swear to God- I  _ trusted  _ you- I turned  _ my back  _ to you, and  _ you- _ ” 

He glared at Yeosang as he shoved his bangs out of his eyes, and Yeosang could only laugh as he ran through the water as best he could, Wooyoung swimming after him, trying to catch onto his shirt that was soaked through. 

Yeosang was almost drowned by Jongho landing on top of him, and Wooyoung was picked up and held out of the water by Yunho- both of them warning the two of them against spilling blood in the pool. 

It was a little cold out, but Yeosang didn’t particularly mind as he swam peacefully, refusing any attempts to get him to play games. 

He dove under, resurfacing and shaking water from his hair and getting his breath back. 

He found Wooyoung sitting on the edge of the pool, already staring at him with lights in his eyes. Yeosang frowned. “What?” he questioned, brushing his hair back. 

Wooyoung shook his head quickly. “Nothing,” He assured him, but he nodded pointedly. “It’s just cool- look where you ended up.” 

Yeosang glanced down, and as the water around him settled from the disturbance he had caused, he saw the golden white shape of the moon sitting around him like a halo.

He laughed quietly. “That’s cool,” he said, slightly awed by it as he glanced up at Wooyoung- 

Who was looking at him a little too softly. 

Yeosang’s mouth felt a little dry as he smiled. 

Wooyoung’s lips quirked up wider as Yeosang stayed where he was, his body piercing through the center of the reflection of the moon. 

Yeosang was sure that it was a pretty cool sight from where Wooyoung was sitting. 

So why was Wooyoung staring at Yeosang like that, and not the water? 


	5. Eccedentesiast

Eccedentesiast- (n) someone who hides the pain behind a smile 

“Are you feeling alright?”

Hongjoong was sure Seonghwa was sick and tired of that question, but he found it falling from his lips all the same. 

The same way that Hongjoong was sick and tired of the tight smile that Seonghwa gave him, and the assured nod that followed, as if it was so obvious that Seonghwa was completely fine. 

And then the moment Hongjoong turned, he knew his smile would fade and the tightness of pain and stiffness would seep into his eyes and his hand would come up, uncontrollably, to press at his side that had pained him for weeks now. 

Weeks. 

Seonghwa wasn’t under any delusion that he was fooling anyone to think he was okay, but hell if he wasn’t trying his best to make it seem like he was. 

Hongjoong had watched a minor irritation grow into a pain that had Seonghwa practically being carried from the stage after hours of smiling and forcing himself to work through the agony. 

They had all watched his face grow pale when he moved too quickly, a hand leaping to his side and then quickly removing, as if he was still convinced that maybe the others hadn’t noticed. 

Hongjoong watched as certain days were simply too much and even Seonghwa’s tenacity wasn’t enough to keep him going, forcing him to sit out during performances or miss events completely. 

Those were the times it hurt the worst, for Hongjoong. 

Even more than Seonghwa’s lies about his health- the times when even his unrelenting desire to keep going, to keep pushing himself, finally failed. When even his fear of missing too much was finally drowned out by the pain, and he could go no further. 

When Seonghwa’s body, quite literally, finally gave out on him. 

And somehow, he still had to audacity to smile after the others had returned, assuring them that he felt better now, despite not even being able to stand to greet them. 

Hongjoong wouldn’t exactly call it better at night. 

There were nights when Seonghwa’s pain medication would finally kick in, and he would fall asleep quickly, and there were ones when even if he had taken the medicine, he still tossed and turned- quiet hisses and coughs of pain reaching Hongjoong on the top bunk (they had switched because there was no way for Seongha to climb up there every night). 

Hongjoong would lay awake, no matter how tired, trying to find a solution that might ease him enough to just get some sleep. 

When both of them woke up with bruises under their eyes, and Seonghwa still smiled and told Hongjoong good morning. 

Hongjoong wanted to get angry. He would stare at Seonghwa’s smile and want to yell- to demand that Seonghwa stop pretending, to just admit to it- 

Hongjoong didn’t know what that would change or help… but he just wanted Seonghwa to feel like he  _ could _ . 

But Seonghwa was already going through enough without adding Hongjoong’s self-righteous anger into the mix of everything else. 

So Hongjoong simply asked him if there was anything he needed. And Seonghwa would smile a little wider, a little tighter, and shake his head. 

Despite that, Hongjoong tried to do what he could. When they got back late at night, and Seonghwa wait straight to lay down, even if he wasn’t sleeping- Hongjoong went to the closet in the hall, pulling out one of the hot water packs that they used after particularly grueling practice sessions. 

He filled it with hot water, testing it to make sure it wasn’t too hot before returning to their room with that and a cup of tea (Seonghwa always made this kind, and Hongjoong didn’t know exactly how he liked it, but he prepared it based on the package instructions). 

He opened the door quietly, just in case Seonghwa had managed to fall asleep, but he found the light on and Seonghwa laying on his back- not even his phone out, just staring up at the bottom of the top bunk, both hands pressing against his side. 

The moment he heard the door open, his hands dropped to his side as he looked over, smiling quietly. 

Hongjoong hid the way his chest tightened. “It’s just me,” he said quietly, closing the door behind him, hoping to prompt Seonghwa into returning to whatever it was he felt he needed to do to ease the pain. 

Seonghwa simply frowned at the items in his hand and went to sit up- 

“No,” Hongjoong said quietly, holding a hand out to stop him. “Don’t- Just lay down, okay? I got you a hot water bottle.” 

Seonghwa’s brows pulled down further as he laid back down, watching Hongjoong closely. Hongjoong sat on the edge of the bed carefully, setting the tea on the floor. 

“It’s still a little too hot to drink,” he said, just to fill the silence as he passed over the hot pack. Seonghwa took it slowly. 

“You didn’t have to do this,” he said, feeling the pack between his hands before laying over his shirt. He closed his eyes- probably having that jerk of pain-relief that came like massaging a sore muscle. 

Hongjoong simply waited patiently for the tension to pass, reaching out and brushing hair from Seonghwa’s face gently. “I want to…” he murmured quietly. 

Seonghwa’s eyes opened to frown at Hongjoong- eyes strained- but he closed them again a moment later. “Thanks,” he said, voice tight against the pain. 

Hongjoong hummed, watching silently as the hot pack finally seemed to make a different, Seonghwa slowly relaxing back into the bed as the warmth eased some of the sharp pain. 

Finally, Seonghwa’s tight breathing evened out, and Hongjoong felt at least part of him fall into some sort of relief. 

“You can…. You can ask for this sort of stuff, you know,” Hongjoong said quietly, careful to control his voice. He didn’t want to start a fight. 

He just wanted to make sure that Seonghwa understood. 

Seonghwa opened his eyes, a little less stiff, and stared at Hongjoong for a long time. Hongjoong didn’t shift under his gaze, but he simply stared back, hoping that Seonghwa saw his sincerity. 

The older, however, simply glanced away. “I know,” he said off handedly. “I just don’t need them, so I don’t ask.” 

“You can ask for things you don’t need,” Hongjoong said, perhaps a bit too quickly. “Especially when you’re in this much pain-” 

“It’s not that bad,” Seonghwa said quietly- 

“Bullshit.” 

Seonghwa looked at him as Hongjoong winced, covering his mouth at the harsh snap, already regretting everything this conversation had become. 

“It’s not,” Seonghwa insisted, eyes withdrawn. “It gets bad sometimes, but you don’t need to worry.” 

Hongjoong was careful this time- taking a calming breath and organizing his intent before he allowed himself to speak. “Seonghwa, you can barely sit up by yourself most of the time,” he said calmly, as if giving a gentle reminder. 

“I don’t want everyone to worry-” 

“Everyone is already worried,” Hongjoong pressed firmly, still so very careful to keep his voice gentle. “And, honestly, it only makes us- or at least  _ me-  _ worry  _ more  _ when you lie to us because I never know when it’s getting  _ worse _ .” 

Seonghwa shifted slightly, a hand coming up to press against the water bottle. He didn’t look hurt, but he seemed a bit stuck- like he didn’t know what he was being scolded for. 

“I don’t lie,” he said quietly. “I just… We have enough things to worry about-” 

“Seonghwa, I would much rather worry about you than some fucking  _ stage _ .” It came out sharper, but never crossing over the line from concerned. “I would rather know what you’re feeling than work in ten extra minutes of practice for a dance we’ve known for  _ weeks _ .” 

Seonghwa looked away, lips pressing together. He wasn’t angry- he almost seemed hurt. Maybe regretful. 

Hongjoong laid a gentle hand on his arm- careful not to press to hard anywhere. “Seonghwa, I’m not… I’m not trying to scold you. I’m not trying to make you feel worse- but I want to make you… I want you to understand that  _ you’re  _ our priority. Not a stage or a concert. And you always will be that priority- regardless of whether you reveal you’re having a hard time.” 

All of them had worked so fucking hard to be here. 

Hongjoong wouldn’t allow a single one of them to be left behind- but he also wouldn’t let one of them ruin themselves by trying to work through something that couldn’t be worked through. 

“I’m not asking you to tell me everything,” Hongjoong assured Seonghwa, who still wouldn’t look at him. “But… when I ask you flat out how you’re feeling… I know you’re not okay, Seonghwa. I want you to be able to tell me that, even in the most basic of terms.” 

“If you know, then why do you bother asking?” Seonghwa asked, voice a little thick and the expression on his face shielded from Hongjoong. “Why bother, if you know I’m only going to lie?” 

Hongjoong’s chest hurt. He squeezed Seonghwa’s arm gently. “Because… I don’t want you to think it’s working.” 

That made Seonghwa glance at him, his eyes becoming stuck on Hongjoong in a sort of pained-confusion. 

Hongjoong tried to smile, but he didn’t think it was very successful. “I never want you to think that you’ve successfully diverted our attention. That you managed to convince us. I don’t want you to think we ever stop worrying about you. I don’t want you to ever think that we’re ignoring you, or telling ourselves that you’ll be fine.” 

Seonghwa’s jaw flexed, something swimming in his eyes. 

Hongjoong knew that despite the fact he was a leader to everyone, he often needed Seonghwa to help take care of him. 

From listening as the one person Hongjoong felt he could rant to, to stopping Hongjoong from leaving the house with his shirt on backwards. 

And he knew that Seonghwa confided in him as well, and Hongjoong always assured him that he would listen- maybe not as someone older, but as a friend and leader who cared. 

As grateful as Hongjoong was for Seonghwa’s constant reliable presence, he sometimes regretted that he was older than Hongjoong. 

Hongjoong would probably be a shitty hyung for him, but maybe Seonghwa would find it easier to really confide in him with his problems. Especially ones this big. 

“Just because you’re the leader doesn’t mean you can’t rely on anyone- isn’t that what you always told me?” Hongjoong posed quietly. “Just because you’re the oldest- you don’t have to hold it all in all the time.” 

Seonghwa swallowed, looking like he was backed against a wall. 

“I, of all people, understand wanting to shoulder it all- to try and keep it your own problem, instead of letting it affect the others.” Hongjoong had to laugh a little at that- at how ardently Seonghwa would drag his problems out of him. “But just like you can’t stand letting that happen… I don’t want you to think any of us can, either.” 

“I’m not-” 

Seonghwa’s words died in his throat, turning away again, staring at the hot pack resting at his side. He stared at it for a long time, his lips rolling and curling, like he was tasting the words before allowing them out. 

“Thank you.” 

That was… probably the last thing Hongjoong expected, but it was spoken so genuinely, it punched his chest. 

Seonghwa swallowed, and then he glanced back at Hongjoong, his eyes swam. “I-” He pressed his lips together tightly for a moment. “Thank you.” 

Hongjoong felt his lips pull up despite everything. He, of all people, knew that sometimes that was all you could say. 

When someone just stripped you down bare to your bones, smiled quietly, and then put everything back… sometimes something so simple was all that could be said- was all that was  _ needed  _ to be said. 

It was everything: gratitude, acknowledgement, and relief. 

Hongjoong rubbed Seonghwa’s arm comfortingly. The older didn’t cry- Hongjoong didn’t really expect him to. 

“Would you slap me if I asked how you were feeling?” Hongjoong questioned gently. 

Seonghwa laughed wetly, voice a little unstable, but he glanced at Hongjoong- everything seeming a little lighter. “I’d probably hurt myself more than I’d hurt you.” 

And despite how concerning the words were, Hongjoong still smiled. “Did the hot pack help?” 

Seonghwa glanced at it. “More like it gives me something else to focus on. It helps me not tense up so much…” He tried to see over the edge of the bed without sitting up. “You got me tea?” 

Hongjoong straightened quickly. “Oh! Yeah, it’s-” 

Hongjoong bent over, and in doing so, his feet shifted- knocking straight into the mug sitting on the floor and sending lukewarm tea spilling across the floor. 

“Hongjoong!” Seonghwa scolded loudly- 

“ _ Shit- _ ” Hongjoong quickly righted the cup, cursing as he stood- hopping over the mess and rushing to get a towel. 

“It’s going to make the floor sticky!” Seonghwa yelled from their bedroom, carrying across the dorm. “Hongjoong- it’s  _ spreading- _ ” 

Hongjoong wished swift death on the members gathered in the living room who cackled as he raced through to the kitchen for a towel. 

“Run, Hongjoong-” 

“Yeah, hyung, it’s  _ spreading- _ ” 

“Fuck off!” Hongjoong called as he obtained a cloth and raced back. He dropped to the floor, trying to stop the tea was running any further, quickly wiping up with the sopping rag. 

“It’s got sugar in it- the floor’s gonna be sticky,” Seonghwa scolded, having managed to sit up on the bed, glaring at Hongjoong. “You need the mop- Get the  _ mop _ , Hongjoong-” 

Hongjoong huffed, throwing the towel into their basket of dirty clothes. 

“Hongjoong, my  _ clothes-  _ There’s  _ tea  _ on that-” 

The next twenty minutes were spent with Seonghwa pointed out spots on the floor that Hongjoong had missed (which he was sure he had gone over three times by now), and Hongjoong groaning in frustration. 

“You shouldn’t have kicked it if you didn’t want to clean it up,” Seonghwa said mercilessly. “ _ There-  _ I can  _ see  _ the sticky on the floor, Hongjoong.” 

And despite his annoyance at being forced to clean up his mistake, he secretly felt a bit lighter. 

Seonghwa was, at least for the moment, acting a bit more like himself. At the very least, he was sitting up and yelling as usual, without curling over his side that still had the hot pack pressed to it. 

For a moment, Hongjoong could believe everything was normal. 

After another ten minutes, Seonghwa deemed the floor clean enough. For now. 

“And now you’ve stressed me out,” Seonghwa sighed, laying back down with a pained groan. “Now, I’m dying- You’ve killed me, Hongjoong, all because you can’t control your own feet-” 

Hongjoong laughed, despite his annoyance. 

Everything was a little bit lighter. At least for now. 

Hongjoong sat on the edge of Seonghwa’s bed again. “I’m so sorry,” he cooed sarcastically, brushing back Seonghwa’s hair that had gone askew. “Look, the floor’s all clean, so you can finally sleep without bitching too much.” 

Seonghwa swatted at his hand, but Hongjoong simply moved it out the way before running his fingers through Seonghwa’s hair again. 

Seonghwa peeked his eyes open to glare at Hongjoong who chuckled. “Just go to sleep- we should all be settling down.” 

Seonghwa lifted his eyes to Hongjoong’s hand. “What are doing?” he questioned as Hongjoong continued to pet his hair. 

“Helping you relax,” Hongjoong said simply. “Since I stressed you out so badly, you’ll probably have an aneurism in your sleep. Think of me as a hot pack for your soul.” 

Seonghwa snorted quietly, closing his eyes again- surprisingly without a fight. “More like cold hands on my soul.” 

“They match my warm heart,” Hongjoong snickered quietly. 

Surprisingly, Seonghwa fell quiet- not batting Hongjoong’s hand away. And Hongjoong hadn’t exactly been serious about the whole helping him relax thing, but after about thirty seconds, it was clear that the ministrations  _ were  _ helping Seonghwa relax. 

Well, Hongjoong had nothing better to do this evening, so he simply continued to run fingers through Seonghwa’s hair, letting his nails run gently over his scalp on the way back. 

A quiet breath escaped Seonghwa’s chest that sounded like Hongjoong was doing alright. Hongjoong found himself biting back a wild smile as he shifted back and forth- from one side of Seonghwa’s hair to the other, covering every section. 

Seonghwa didn’t say a word the whole time- didn’t open his eyes or tell Hongjoong that was enough. It either felt that good or Seonghwa just couldn’t be bothered to stop him. 

He watched as Seonghwa’s expression slowly went lax- despite Hongjoong not having noticed that it was pinched to begin with. And Hongjoong couldn’t help but feel his chest warm up. 

It felt nice to help. 

In whatever way- however stupid or insignificant- to be able to ease some part of Seonghwa’s pain, even if it was just the stress that came with the discomfort. 

It won’t always be like this, Hongjoong kept reminding himself. The days seemed endless now, but at some point, Seonghwa would be better and everything would be alright. 

Seonghwa’s hair looked a mess, but his expression was more peaceful than Hongjoong had seen in weeks. 

It made his chest swell and clench at the same time. 

Seonghwa’s hand fell away from where it had been pressing against the hot pack, the pack sliding off of his side and landing on the bed beside Seonghwa’s limp arm. 

Hongjoong stared for a moment before glancing towards Seonghwa’s face and even breathing. 

Had he already  _ fallen asleep _ ? It hadn’t even been ten minutes at this point- 

Hongjoong leaned in close, still scratching lightly at Seonghwa’s scalp, and the other’s lips were parted slightly as he took in gentle, loose breaths. 

Holy shit, he went to sleep that fast? 

It was clear that the pain tonight was not as bad as it could be, but still… Hongjoong stared for another moment before feeling a quiet burst of pride in his chest. 

He had at least managed to do this for Seonghwa. 

It didn’t fix anything, but hopefully it was enough to give him one good night’s sleep. Hongjoong slowed the drag of his fingers through Seonghwa’s soft hair, feeling the strands slide between his fingers, slowing until he finally stopped. 

Seonghwa didn’t seem to wake. 

Quietly, he grabbed the hot pack and placed it gently on Seonghwa’s side, shifting off of the bed without making it creak. 

Seonghwa laid on top of his own blanket, so Hongjoong reached up, dragging his own off of his bunk, and throwing it carefully over Seonghwa. 

He still did not wake. Seonghwa was a pretty deep sleeper on the regular, and Hongjoong was so thankful for that now. He walked over, flicking off the lights and casting the room into darkness. 

Part of him was afraid to climb into his bunk, for fear of waking him, but Hongjoong did so with the utmost care- not really caring that all he had was the sheet of his bed. 

He settled down, listening. 

Seonghwa continued to breathe quietly. 

Hongjoong allowed himself to smile widely in the darkness. For at least a moment, he had helped. 

And if Seonghwa didn’t think that this was Hongjoong’s plan for every night, now that he knew it worked somewhat- he was dead wrong. 

If this was all he could do, then so be it. 

It was enough, just to ease that discomfort for a moment. 


	6. Atelophobia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My last chapter ㅠㅠㅠ  
Thank you for all the attention this has gotten- you guys are amazing!  
I may come back and write more if I ever want to take a break from more plot oriented things, but this is all for now!  
Thank you for reading this, and I hope you have an amazing day!  
-SS

Atelophobia- (n) the fear of imperfection or not being good enough; an extreme fear of failing to achieve perfection in one’s actions 

Working yourself into the ground was not uncommon for idols. 

In fact, it was basically a requirement. With the mass-producing style that entertainment companies held, you had to be willing to risk  _ everything  _ for your dream- time, money, youth, and health. 

Health was often the first to give out, though. 

Wooyoung had passed out only twice in his life: both while dancing- once before debut and once after Ateez had formed. 

The first time, it was before an evaluation and Wooyoung had been too nervous to eat and too busy practicing to sleep, probably consuming one sip of water all day during one of Seoul’s summers. 

Sweat ran down his back as he followed with the others in the group- Yeosang somewhere behind him and a handful of others beside him in the front. 

“You look terrible,” was the first thing Yeosang had said to him. Wooyoung had shrugged it off, despite how sick he felt- like he could vomit at any second. 

Sweat practically blinded Wooyoung for how much of it ran into his eyes- but it was not sweat in his eyes that made him stumble. His lungs began to lock up, forcing him to concentrate in order to draw breath. That was the first sign. 

Then spots began to dance as oxygen seemed to be failing him, and Wooyoung stumbled as a wave of dizziness washed over him. 

It seemed to be over within seconds- his body slamming into someone else’s and both of them falling. 

Wooyoung had never passed out before, and for a split second, he thought he might be dying as every went black. Once more, it seemed like only seconds before Wooyoung was opening his eyes. 

His head ached, but his breathing came easier as he stared up at the concerned face of the dance instructor and a handful of trainees, all of them holding booklets and fanning him- the instructor’s hand dripping water onto Wooyoung. 

There was a whole event of the instructor making everyone back away and helping Wooyoung to his feet. He was taken to the health center on the second floor and given a myriad of things to rehydrate him, and he was told to sleep a bit. 

By evening, he was cleared to return to the dorms. Wooyoung exited, feeling leagues better than he had been, pushing open the door of the center and finding Yeosang sitting on the floor across from it. 

The other noticed him, shooting to his feet with wide eyes. “Are you-” 

“I’m fine,” Wooyoung assured him quickly. “I feel a lot better than I did.” 

Yeosang hugged him tightly, briefly, before pulling away. “You scared the shit out of me,” he told Wooyoung firmly as the two of them began their walk back to the dorms. 

“Yeah, I freaked myself out, too,” he huffed. 

“What happened?” Yeosang demanded. “You looked like shit this morning, but I didn’t think you’d pass out.” 

Wooyoung gave him a rundown of everything, and when he looked over, Yeosang glared at him. “You just  _ didn’t  _ eat or drink?” he demanded. “Before the day you knew we had all day practice? Wooyoung, that’s-” 

“Okay, yeah, it wasn’t the smartest thing,” Wooyoung said off handedly. “But I was busy practicing- I didn’t even think about it.” 

Yeosang continued to glare at him. “Well,  _ think about it  _ next time.” 

“I’m fine,” Wooyoung stressed, waving a hand. “Besides, the extra practice was worth it, I finally got down the chorus-” 

“ _ Passing out  _ in the middle of practice is not  _ ‘worth it,’ _ Wooyoung!” Yeosang snapped, showing the rare anger that Wooyoung didn’t actually see much. 

Yeosang was more the type to glare and ignore you for days. 

“You got in a few extra hours of practice, and then made yourself sick, and missed another seven hours- what was the point?” Yeosang demanded. 

Wooyoung could admit that he hadn’t gone about it the smartest way. But he stood by what he said. “You know that the chorus has been killing me-” 

“You  _ passed out _ , Wooyoung! That’s not good!” 

“I’m not saying it is,” Wooyoung assured him, clearly much calmer than the other. “But it’s also not as bad as you’re making it out to be- I’m fine, now.” 

Wooyoung glanced over and saw Yeosang glaring at him silently, his lips pursing in the way they did when he was holding himself back from saying something. 

Yeosang turned away from Wooyoung pointedly, glaring at the road in front of them. 

Wooyoung knew he had officially been condemned to being ignored for the next two days. “You can’t ignore me,” Wooyoung said, poking Yeosang’s shoulder, hoping to make him laugh and forget about it. “I just passed out, remember?” 

Yeosang did actually look at him, but it was without any sort of amusement in his heated glare. “It’s wasn’t ‘ _ that bad’ _ ,” Yeosang snapped. “You’ll be ‘ _ fine’ _ .” 

He turned forward again, walking quicker, forcing Wooyoung to speed up. 

Every pushed themselves to their limits. It was the only way to improve. Wooyoung believed this- that it wasn’t until the very end that you ever seemed to get better at something. 

He often pushed himself to the point of not being able to stand, or to the point where sleep-deprivation made him stumble. He was used to it, and he knew his limits well. 

Well… he knew them intimately. Mostly because he stumbled across them sometimes. 

The second time he passed out, it wasn’t his  _ fault _ . Ateez had been practicing all day- running from ten hours into twelve by the time they were released from the room. 

And Wooyoung only ever accepted perfection. 

The others decided to go home (sans Hongjoong who wanted to work in his studio, despite the late hour), and when Wooyoung expressed a desire to stay behind to run through the routine a few more times, everyone stared like he was crazy. 

Wooyoung just waved off their cries that he was insane, just telling them to go on without him. 

Did Wooyoung care that his entire body felt both numb and aching at the same time? No, because they had a performance tomorrow night, and he needed to make sure everything was polished and smooth. 

Wooyoung was alone in the practice room- Hongjoong off somewhere, working. 

And it wasn’t Wooyoung’s  _ fault _ . He was used to his muscles screaming for him to stop, for his lungs begging him to rest and let them breathe properly. 

Wooyoung was used to ignoring those parts of himself, hearing only the music he danced to. 

This time, it just so happened that they were yelling a little louder and he didn’t hear. He didn’t pass out, so much as collapse as his leg muscles gave out on him. 

Wooyoung hit the ground, barely catching himself from hitting his head, and while at first he was conscious, the harder he breathed, the more his vision grew black. 

This time felt like an eternity before he woke back up again to Hongjoong shaking him in a panic. 

“ _ Thank fuck- Wooyoung- _ ” His terrified eyes disappeared from Wooyoung’s shaky vision. 

Hongjoong called Eden- the only other person he knew to be in the building. 

Wooyoung wanted to hang his head at the embarrassment at having someone he respected so much stare at him disapprovingly for pushing himself too hard. 

“Can you even stand?” Eden asked disappointedly. 

And Wooyoung really did try, but there wasn’t even pain associated with it- he just couldn’t get his muscles to hold his weight. 

“What was your plan- pushing yourself so hard the day before a performance?” Eden scolded gently (Eden was never harsh). He and Hongjoong helped support most of Wooyoung’s weight as Eden told Hongjoong to call a taxi to bring them to the dorm. 

Wooyoung was properly shamed. But once more, he wanted to bring up the fact that he had smoothed out the performance- it looked incredible thanks to the practice (before the fainting part). 

He did not bring that up. Not with how pale Hongjoong was and how disappointed Eden seemed. 

“I thought you had fucking died or hit your head or something,” Hongjoong told him on the ride home, his hands shaking from adrenaline. “You scared the shit out of me, Wooyoung.” 

“I’m fine,” he said truthfully. 

Of course, Eden had already called the others and told them what happened, so Wooyoung was received with worried stares and declarations of “I told you so.” 

The only one who remained quiet was Yeosang, who stood at a distance, expression unreadable. 

Wooyoung was condemned to another two days of silence from the other. He was used to it at this point, but it still sucked every time. And within the first day of Yeosang speaking to him again, Wooyoung felt like everything was going to be okay. 

And maybe Wooyoung shot himself in the foot. 

Maybe he should have given himself more recovery time within Yeosang’s good graces before doing something stupid again. 

But it wasn’t his  _ fault _ . His body ached, and they were on stage somewhere Wooyoung had lost track of, and his foot just  _ slipped _ . 

It wasn’t even a hard fall- nothing more than stumble in the middle of the choreo, but it haunted Wooyoung the entire day, his stomach curling in shame and anger everytime he repeated the recording they had used to monitor it. 

“It wasn’t even that bad,” San assured him, patting his shoulder. “Seriously- no one even noticed. Stop watching it so obsessively.” 

Wooyoung closed out of the video, but it was his own mind that played it on repeat. 

Yeosang was finally talking to him, and they had an entire day off the following day. 

Wooyoung knew that if he wanted to push himself, this would be the time. He would have plenty of recovery time. He would have plenty of time to smooth out that stupid slip. 

That couldn’t happen again. 

Perfection was everything to an idol. It was everything they were expected to be. It was everything Wooyoung expected of himself- he had worked too hard to bring their team anything less than perfection. 

He could not let himself be the weak link. 

But he hadn’t taken into account how hard he’d been pushing himself the past few days. So, despite how hydrated he was, and how many calories he had been taking in, Wooyoung found his legs shaking under his weight after only a few hours. 

He paused for a moment, considering if he should take a break or not… He glanced at the clock. Only two more hours until they would all head home- everyone scattered into their personal training at the moment. 

Wooyoung took a deep breath and shoved sweat and aches out of his mind. He could last two more hours. To make sure another mistake was not made. 

And, yeah, if Wooyoung was thinking clearly he might have realized sooner that it was a bad idea, but he leapt from one position to another, and felt his knee buckle. 

Wooyoung wound up on his back, staring up at the ceiling, chest heaving and head swimming as his legs and arms shook at the sudden lack of weight placed on them. 

He closed his eyes against the ached, gritting his teeth. “ _ Fuck _ ,” he hissed into the silence. He tried to roll onto his side, his abdomen screaming in tight, sore muscles that refused to listen anymore. 

He fell back, shaking hands massaging his legs that hurt too much to touch. 

_ Fuck _ . He was never going to hear the end of this. 

His hand dug into his pocket where his phone was, his fingers shaking a little from the leftover adrenaline. 

Yeosang’s name was the first that popped up, and so that was the one Wooyoung hit, despite knowing he would never hear the end of it. 

He picked up on the third ring. “Wooyoung?” The confusion was evident as to why Wooyoung would be calling him in the middle of their personal practices. 

“Uh… Yeosang, I need…” He tried to breathe enough to speak. “I need you to come help me.. I, uh, I can’t stand up.” 

He heard something slam through the phone. “What do you mean you  _ can’t stand _ ?” There was panic in Yeosang’s voice. 

“No, it’s- I just- My legs keep shaking-” 

“Room 4?” Yeosang demanded. 

Before Wooyoung even answered, the door to the practice room shoved open, Yeosang stumbling over the threshold, phone already being shoved in his pocket. 

“I’m fine,” Wooyoung said quickly, trying to at least quell the panic. 

Yeosang dropped to his knees beside Wooyoung. “What did you do?” he demanded, eyes wide as he stared at Wooyoung laying flat on his back. 

“I just- I danced a little too hard. It’s not bad- they’re just shaking really bad.” 

“Why do you  _ always  _ do this?” Yeosang sighed, rubbing at his face, concern leaking through the anger. “You passed out a week ago- you didn’t learn  _ anything _ ?”

“I-” Wooyoung hissed as Yeosang helped him sit up, his muscles painfully tight. “I had to fix my mistake from earlier-” 

“You didn’t make a mistake in the choreo,” Yeosang said sharply. “Wooyoung, you didn’t make a mistake, you  _ slipped _ . That’s not something you can prevent by killing yourself during practice.” 

“I just need to get used to the move- if I make it smoother, I won’t slip-” 

“Wooyoung, we’ve done that choreo a hundred times, you’ve never slipped before.” 

Wooyoung swallowed as Yeosang’s voice had turned quieter. More dull. Less scolding and more genuine. 

His eyes turned gentle. “What happened yesterday wasn’t your fault- it was just a fluke.” 

“It was still a mistake-” 

“But not something you can  _ fix _ ,” Yeosang stressed, hands keeping Wooyoung upright. 

Yeosang stared at him, and for once there was no anger. 

Only concern. Only a gentle gaze that made Wooyoung drop his head in shame faster than anger or Eden could ever hope to. 

Pissing Yeosang off wasn’t that hard to do- Wooyoung did it regularly. Disappointing him was another thing. 

Making him  _ sad  _ was another thing. 

“Everyone saw it-” 

“The same way they’ve seen Hongjoong lose his rings, and Jongho go the entirely wrong way,” Yeosang said without missing a beat. “The same way my voice has cracked and San ran into you that one time.” 

Yeosang’s eyes were gentle, but his voice was firm. The kind that Wooyoung didn’t hear often, but that he always felt like a kid under. 

Because despite his flippancy and Wooyoung’s asshole behavior- Yeosang cared. A lot. And Wooyoung never tried to worry him like that, but it just  _ happened _ . 

“I just want everything to be perfect,” Wooyoung whispered, not sure his voice would make it if he tried to speak louder. He stared at his legs, cursing their weakness. “We’re supposed to be perfect- You know how people are. One slip, and that’s a thousand people who are never going to look at us again-” 

“You’re not perfect.” 

Wooyoung looked up sharply, and Yeosang’s hands caught his face, pulling him close so Yeosang’s eyes bored into his. 

Wooyoung froze. 

Yeosang stared sternly. “You aren’t perfect, Wooyoung. None of us are. And none of us can ever be that. I know that… it sucks when you’re the one who makes a misstep,” he said quietly. “But you- you can’t  _ do  _ this to yourself, Wooyoung.” 

He gestured to Wooyoung’s legs, expression turning pained. Wooyoung swallowed thickly. 

“You can’t do this- This is  _ scary _ , Wooyoung,” he said quietly. “Do you understand what this looks like to us? Can you imagine getting a call from me, out of the blue, and all I say is that  _ I can’t even stand _ ?” 

Wooyoung winced. 

“I-” He knew it was stupid. “I just… We have to be perfect.” 

“We  _ can’t  _ be perfect,” Yeosang said firmly. “We can be our best- but we can’t be perfect, Wooyoung. And you especially aren’t going to get close to it if you’re constantly working yourself to the point that you can’t even  _ move _ .” 

“You-” 

“Is it worth itto kill yourself over a performance, when you’re working yourself to the point you can’t even perform?” Yeosang demanded quietly. “Wooyoung, just-” He stopped, pressing his lips together, choosing his words carefully. “You can strive to be perfect,” he said quietly. “Just stop hurting yourself to get there. Okay?” 

Wooyoung felt like his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth as Yeosang released his face, reaching into his pocket for his phone. “I’m calling Yunho- I can’t help you stand on my own.” 

Wooyoung sat, chastised and shamed as he was helped to his feet, and they took a taxi home early. 

He was given nothing but a stern look from Hongjoong before Yeosang shook his head sharply in a “I’ve already got this” gesture. 

Wooyoung was shoved onto his bed by Yeosang who told him to rest- bringing him pain pills and a hot pack. Wooyoung tried to thank him, but Yeosang left before he could. 

Yeosang wasn’t mad- Wooyoung knew this. He was scared and disappointed. 

Wooyoung always got lost in a bit of self-centeredness. 

The thought that everyone was always watching him at all times, and that everything rode on his shoulders. If something went wrong, it was his fault. If they made a mistake, it was because he didn’t try hard enough. 

And at the base of it all, he knew that wasn’t true. He knew he was being stupid. 

It was just hard to act on that. 

Yeosang came back in a while later, carrying a bowl of rice and chicken. Wooyoung sat up painfully as Yeosang pushed it into his hands and left once more. 

“Yeosang-” 

He left without looking back. 

Wooyoung knew it wasn’t fair to the others. He was so scared of being a burden to them on stage, that he was making everyone’s lives impossible behind the scenes. 

He couldn’t keep making them carry him. 

The food tasted like ash. 

Wooyoung laid back down, waiting quietly as the hour grew later and later. It was near midnight before the door opened again and Yeosang entered, turning off the light as soon as he entered. 

“Yeosang,” Wooyoung said firmly, hearing the other stop moving. “I’m sorry…” 

It felt like it wasn’t enough. Wooyoung’s mind flew, trying to find another way to say, a way to put enough emotion into it- 

“I know,” came the quiet reply. 

The bed dipped as Yeosang sat on the edge. Wooyoung felt his throat close up as he made out Yeosang’s shape in the darkness. 

“If I find you hurting yourself like this one more time, I’m going to kill you myself,” he said, voice completely flat. “I’m serious, Wooyoung.” 

“I- I don’t mean to do it,” Wooyoung said quickly, feeling like an excuse, but wanting Yeosang to know. “I just- I forget myself, and I get so caught up in making sure it’s perfect, I just-” 

“I know,” Yeosang broke in, voice gentle enough to silence Wooyoung. “I’m… I’m not telling you not to try your best. But you can’t keep doing this, Wooyoung.” 

Wooyoung closed his eyes tightly. “I know…” 

“Hongjoong doesn’t want you doing anything strenuous tomorrow since we have the fansign the next day,” Yeosang said quietly. “You’re taking an actual day off.” 

Wooyoung nodded quickly. “I’m sorry.” 

Because he was. He really didn’t mean to worry them, to make them catch him, to keep messing up like this- 

These mistakes were worse than any he could make on stage. 

“You have passion, Wooyoung,” Yeosang said quietly, a hand touching Wooyoung’s hip over his blankets. “You always have. And that’s… a beautiful thing to have. But you’re only human. Passion isn’t going to pull you through a torn ligament or a sprain because you pushed yourself too hard.” 

Wooyoung’s blood felt a little cold. “I know.” He swallowed. “I… I’m going to try and be better about it-” He shook his head sharply. “I’m  _ going  _ to be better about it. I promise.” 

Yeosang was quiet for a moment before chuckling. “Was all it took to make you slow down a sharp scolding and some food?” 

Wooyoung couldn’t bring himself to laugh. “I never said I’d succeed at it…” Because habits were hard to break. 

And inadequacy was even worse to overcome. 

Yeosang squeezed his hip. “We’ll just squirt you with water everytime you push yourself too hard. You’ll learn.” 

He couldn’t help but crack a smile. “I am sorry.” 

Yeosang chuckled quietly as he leaned down, laying over Wooyoung and hugging him loosely. “I know, you idiot. Just understand that starting from now- we have license to drag your ass out of the practice room whenever we see fit.” 

Wooyoung wrapped aching arms around Yeosang as well. “Fine. But you can’t get mad if I get mad about it.” 

Yeosang pulled back, scoffing. “The  _ hell  _ I can’t.”

Wooyoung snickered, still feeling that weight on his chest. 

It didn’t feel good- worrying him like that. And even though Wooyoung didn’t often realize his mistake, he was going to try and be better about it. 

For Yeosang’s sake, and his own. 

And the group, of course. 

“Wanna sleep down here tonight?” Wooyoung offered as Yeosang stood. 

He snorted. “After you didn’t shower after fifteen hours of dance practice? No, thanks- I’ll be up there trying not to smell you.” 

He climbed the ladder, and Wooyoung managed to gather the strength to kick the side of the bed. “Asshole.” 

“I’m not the one who started a phone call with nothing but ‘I can’t stand.’” 

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?” Wooyoung huffed, glaring at the bottom of the bed. 

He heard Yeosang settle down. “You gave me a fucking  _ heart attack _ , Wooyoung.” 

“I said sorry!”

“And I’ve accepted that,” Yeosang assured him. “But you’ve got a lot more to make up for than that.” 

Wooyoung sighed, settling against his pillow limply. “I promise to be better,” he sighed quietly. 

There was a short silence. 

“I don’t need you to do better,” Yeosang murmured. “You just need to do your best. I promise you, that’s good enough, Wooyoung. You’re good enough.” 

Wooyoung didn’t respond, but that’s because he didn’t trust his voice not to shatter if he tried to. 

They fell asleep, and Wooyoung resolved his promise even firmer within his chest. 

He could do his best and still succeed. 

Yeosang believed in him. (Had always believed in him.) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The soulmate au is coming along nicely!  
I’ll see you guys in my next work!  
-SS

**Author's Note:**

> I have a twitter and CC! Both @_SinisterSound_  
Feel free to stop by and chat!  
Thank you for reading, and I hope you have a lovely day!  
-SS


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